One Good Thing, page 34
‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me!’
‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’
I jump up and Will gives me a hug and I decide that it’s official; I now love surprises, and nothing beats a really good one.
‘Where are you staying? My place is full, but I’ve got the sofa.’
‘Thanks, but I’m sorted,’ he says, slipping his arm around Maya’s waist as she giggles, and I think how ridiculously cute they are together.
We go to the bar and get drinks, and it’s there that Will apologizes for giving his dad my address. I tell him not to worry; that actually it was good that he did, as it gave me the opportunity to get a lot off my chest, and that I hope the two of them have made up. He tells me they’re going away together at Christmas to do some father-and-son bonding. Skiing? No, the Maldives. Apparently David had booked to go there with his now ex-fiancée on honeymoon, and he can’t get his money back.
‘We’re in the honeymoon suite,’ says Will and laughs. Which makes me laugh. Because you have to, don’t you? And actually the thought of David and Will with petals sprinkled in the shape of love hearts on their bed is really very funny.
Talking of exes, one person who I know isn’t going to show up is Ajay. Not that I’m sure I can officially call him an ex, but still. He texted earlier to thank me for the invite, but said that he had a very jealous girlfriend and feared there could be Murder on the Dance Floor. To which I replied ha-ha, very funny. To which he replied that only I would get that joke, which was exactly the reason he couldn’t come.
Life’s funny, isn’t it? Who you click with, and who you don’t. Who you see as just as a friend, and who you see as something more. They call it chemistry, but it’s so much more than that – that magical connection you feel when it clicks for both of you at exactly the same time. It’s a phenomenon. Some people never feel it. Others get lucky once; some people several times over.
Whether it lasts is another thing. It didn’t stand the test of time for me and David, but now that I’ve stopped grieving over my marriage, I don’t see it as a failure any more. Just because something doesn’t last forever doesn’t make it less valuable. A relationship shouldn’t be measured by time and how it ends, in order to be seen as a success. It was great and brilliant and wonderful for a while, until it wasn’t. And maybe that’s how life’s supposed to be.
And maybe some relationships don’t even start. Maybe they’re only a spark and, if you don’t catch it quickly enough, it goes out. Maybe that’s what happened to me and Ben.
Where is he?
As the evening wears on, I find myself distracted, watching the entrance, waiting for Ben to arrive. We haven’t spoken for weeks now and I stopped texting when he stopped replying. I know he’s been avoiding me. But tonight brought with it a hope for reconciliation – a chance to talk and clear the air. To at least try and be friends. But as it gets later and later, doubts begin to form, until suddenly a thought strikes me: what if he’s not coming? And I’m hit with such a crushing sense of disappointment that I realize, for the first time, just how much I want him to.
I’ve almost given up when I finally catch sight of him. I’m dancing with Valentine when I see Ben through the crowds. I know instantly it’s him before he’s even turned round. I recognize the broad square of his shoulders in his jacket, and the quiet ease of the way he holds himself, like he doesn’t have to prove anything. And I feel such a sense of relief that I lose my step. Valentine catches me, twirling me around, and I laugh and we continue dancing. But I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is: Ben’s here. About how much I want to talk to him, even though I haven’t a clue what to say.
It’s when the music slows down that I realize I’ve run out of time anyway. It’s too late. It’s the end of the evening. Time for the last dance. At which point Valentine apologizes and disappears to the loo, leaving me sitting on the sidelines, feeling like a bit of a wallflower. I look for Ben, but I can’t see him any more. He must have gone home already. That tiny bit of hope I’ve been holding on to crumples inside me, and I rub the heels of my stockinged feet and watch Naomi and Danny slow-dancing; Ellie is fast asleep in his arms and squeezed between them. Maya and Will, arms wrapped around each other, are trying to be all romantic while not looking in the direction of her parents, who are swaying cheek-to-cheek nearby.
My eyes flick across the dance floor at all the different couples: Evelyn towering above the vicar, his head on her shoulder, her feather boa wrapped around his neck; the farmer who for the first time I’ve seen without muddy wellies, with his wife; Sheila the postmistress, tiny and oh-so-happy to be dancing with her soldier son who’s come home for Christmas; the ladies who own the walkers’ cafe, still wearing their striped aprons, as they’ve been serving up pie and mash. All the familiar faces. Except one.
‘Can I have this last dance?’
And then I look up and he’s there.
The Last Dance
Ben holds out his hand. I raise my eyes to his. He looks nervous.
That makes two of us.
‘Yes,’ I nod.
Standing up, I slip my hand into his and he leads me to the dance floor. It feels absurdly formal. Both of us are all dressed up. Like we’re in another era and there are different rules. He slips his arm around my waist.
‘You look nice.’
‘You too.’
‘How’s Stanley?’
‘He’s great. With his Aunt Holly. It would be too loud for him in here.’
Our bodies are suddenly pressed together, yet we’ve barely talked for weeks.
‘What about Harry? Quite the celebrity.’
‘He’s at home. Too loud for him, too. Hopefully the celebrity is not chewing up the house.’
Ben laughs politely as we begin moving slowly around more than just the dance floor – we’ll be talking about the weather next. I feel a sudden sense of urgency, in case I lose my nerve.
‘Look, there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘I need to say something.’
We both speak at once and break off, both of us smiling.
‘You go first,’ I say quickly, aware of wanting to catch whatever it is before it slips away. I know if I go first, everything will change.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not good with words.’ His eyes meet mine and his face is full of apology. ‘But I owe you an explanation.’
‘For what?’
‘For why I’ve been avoiding you. For not saying goodbye at the funeral and for ignoring your texts. For being a jerk to Maya.’
He’s taken off his jacket and I can feel the broadness of his shoulder through the white cotton of his shirt.
‘It wasn’t Maya’s fault. She’s just a kid. It was an accident.’
‘I know, and I’ve apologized to her tonight. I was a teenager once and we all remember what a total idiot I was.’
Ben’s eyes search mine for recognition, recalling that night in the restaurant, as if wanting to make sure I haven’t forgotten.
I haven’t forgotten, I want to tell him. Not even a second of it.
As he holds me close, our bodies gently sway together. It’s a slow, romantic ballad and I can feel the pressure of his fingertips on my back, guiding me. It makes me feel safe. It’s a lovely thing, feeling safe.
‘I wish I hadn’t suggested we go out, then none of it would ever have happened.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Ben looks upset.
‘It’s true.’
‘No, it’s not.’
His head jerks back and I catch flashes of pain and frustration in his face. ‘What’s true is I had the best evening, and I don’t regret that for a second. What’s true is I got scared. I thought I’d lost Stan, like I lost Janet.’
I’ve never seen Ben like this, and I can tell it’s really important for him that I believe him.
‘Like I’m scared of losing you.’ There’s a beat as his eyes search out mine. ‘I’m scared of loving someone, in case I lose them again.’
The whole time I’ve been listening, waiting, and now I feel my breath held tight inside me, because if I exhale I might blow those words away. Do you know what it feels like to have someone say something to you that you never dared hope they would say? To hear it put into words – that very thing you’ve been thinking too.
‘I thought you said you weren’t good with words,’ I say finally.
He smiles then. That lovely, slow smile of his that crinkles up the corners of his eyes, and I feel all warm and fuzzy with love and too many Cherry Bs.
‘I’ve missed you.’
‘I’ve missed you too.’
‘Though maybe not the mouldy teabags,’ I add and we both laugh, and just like all that, all the stuff keeping us apart seems to disappear, and it’s just two people. On a dance floor. In a village hall. Somewhere in the middle of the Yorkshire Dales. And as the music plays and the tiny magical refractions of light from the glitter ball swirl around us, I loop my arms around Ben’s neck and rest my head against his chest, breathing in his scent as he holds me closer. I could stay like this forever.
‘Sorry, I forgot to ask . . . What was it you wanted to tell me?’
His voice murmurs in my ear and we pull apart slightly. And it’s then, across the other side of the room, I catch sight of Valentine. He’s standing on the edge of the dance floor, looking over at us. I see his expression and know instinctively that it’s time. Because life isn’t always about perfect timing.
‘Ben.’ I stop dancing.
‘Yes?’
‘Can we go somewhere quieter. It’s about your dad.’
Dearest Sis,
I’ve never been much good at knowing where to start. You were always the organized one, not me. Start at the beginning – isn’t that what Granddad always used to say? Only I don’t really know where it all started and, when I try, I get tangled up in knots.
So instead of trying to find the beginning, I’m going to start right now. Here. On the balcony of an old hacienda, overlooking a courtyard filled with the most beautiful crimson bougainvillea, in a little town in north-western Mexico. I like to sit here and have my morning coffee and eggs. They do the best eggs here, Liv. I like to eat them with fresh flour tortillas and green salsa, and watch the geckos sunning themselves on the old adobe walls.
I read all your emails. I just never knew how to reply. There was so much to say, and it all felt so hard. I’m sorry. I let you down. I should’ve got in touch, only the longer I left it, the harder it got. I wasn’t mad at you. I was never mad at you; I was mad at myself. For not getting it together, for screwing things up. After Dad died, I fell apart and I hurt a lot of people. I hurt you. And it felt easier for everyone if I disappeared.
Ever get that feeling?
I didn’t have any kind of plan. You know me. I just wanted to get away, switch off, check out of my life. So I threw some stuff and my cameras in a backpack and started travelling. When I ran out of money I’d hitch a ride, do some odd jobs, wait on a few tables. There was always something I could do. I ended up in South America for a while, travelling around, taking photos. I never really intended not to come back, but every day it got easier to stay away.
I was hiking in Patagonia with a group of people when I met a couple who owned a hotel. They saw my camera and asked to see my photos, and whether they could buy some of them to hang in their rooms. Turns out they own a large chain of exclusive boutique hotels – and several thousand hotel rooms all over the world. So that’s what I do now. I take photographs for them, mostly of nature and wildlife, and of everyone’s favourite: sunsets.
One of their hotels is this lovely old hacienda in Mexico. I’m staying here for Christmas and the holidays. I like it here. I’m back on my meds and I feel so much better. I’ve been doing a lot of therapy. But mostly the best therapy for me is being out in nature: just me and my camera, doing what I love best.
I never stopped thinking of you, though. Wherever I went, you came with me. It’s been like that my whole life. That’s why I was able to hide in the dungeon of a castle, or float out to sea in an old dinghy, or move to New York. Because I knew you were always there, keeping me safe. I was never the brave one. It was always you.
Oh, how I’ve missed you, Liv. I miss seeing your face. Hearing your voice. And then I was walking through the hotel lobby last week and suddenly I heard your voice and there you were: on the TV. My little sis and her dog called Harry. Imagine what Granddad and Grandma would say! Our Liv on the telly!
I knew then that I had to write. I hope you can forgive me. I wanted to call, but my nerve failed me. I’m on WhatsApp if you want to call me – my number’s at the bottom of this email. Or you can come to Mexico, if you feel like a holiday? There’s plenty of room and the weather is lovely this time of year. And they make the best Margaritas, though I don’t drink any more, but you can have one for me too.
We’ve got a lot to catch up on.
I love you, little sis.
Josie
Stanley
Today at school they had art and Miss Hattersley, his teacher, asked the class to draw a picture of one good thing that made them happy. She said they could use paints or crayons, or cut things out of magazines and make a collage. She said it was the last week before they broke up for Christmas, so to let their imaginations ‘run wild’.
So he drew his trampoline, and Harry and Dad and Auntie Holly and the fireman who rescued him, and the bright-red fire engine that he got to sit in when he went to say thank you. Because he was in a fire and he got to climb out of a window with a fireman. Which he told Maya was really cool, when she came home from university and visited him. And they saved Harry, who showed him how to be brave so that he didn’t get that funny feeling in his tummy any more – that made him very happy.
Stanley liked drawing, but he wasn’t very good at drawing people. He was better at animals. He drew Liv too, but he made her head all wonky. She brought them a chocolate cake when they moved back into their old house, and Dad looked really happy to see her. Stanley used a red felt-tip for Liv’s mouth, because when she arrived she was wearing red lipstick, but it must have rubbed off somehow, as she wasn’t wearing lipstick when she left and he didn’t see her eat any cake.
Stanley liked living at Auntie Holly’s, but he loved his new bedroom. He had lots of new things now. A new duvet. A new train set. A new pair of binoculars. A new school. New friends. Even a new granddad. And they all made him happy. That was the problem: there were so many happy things in his picture that he couldn’t fit them all in. The piece of paper wasn’t big enough. It got him a bit stressed.
Overwhelmed. That’s the word Miss Hattersley used. But she said that was OK, and sometimes in life we get overwhelmed trying to express ourselves and everything we feel. She said that in art lots of artists used something called symbolism and they painted feelings, not things. So she gave him a fresh piece of white paper and said that instead of painting everything, to choose just one thing that symbolized happiness.
So Stanley drew a pizza. Because pizza makes everyone happy.
Valentine
He drew back the curtains. It was still early, but he could tell it promised to be a lovely day. There was snow on the hilltops and the sun was shining. Pulling on his dressing gown, he went into the kitchen, filled the kettle and turned on the radio. Every morning he had a routine. Picking up a pen, he reached for the jotter pad he kept on the side to make daily lists. As he turned the page to start a new one, he smiled to himself.
Monday 18th December
1. Pick up grandson from school
2. Wish Liv safe travels
The Rest of Your Life
‘I thought you were only going for two weeks.’
‘I am!’
‘How can you need this much stuff for two weeks in Mexico?’ Carrying my suitcase down the stairs, Ben grimaces. ‘This weighs a ton!’
‘I wasn’t sure what to take.’
‘So you thought you’d take everything?’ He grins and I smile sheepishly.
‘Here, let me help.’ Following behind him, I try and reach for the handle, and for the first time I notice his left hand. He’s taken off his wedding ring. He catches my eye and a look passes between us. No words. No fuss. Just an understanding.
‘I’ve got this,’ he says.
I think it was a Greek philosopher who said that change is the only constant in life. I never used to like change. It unsettled me. Scared me even. I had so much change as a child that I grew up to fear it – something to be resisted. And for a while there I did a pretty good job of keeping in my comfort zone, until one day my marriage ended and life fell apart and suddenly I had no choice. It was do or die.
And I wasn’t going to die. Not yet, anyway. And as scary and shitty and hard as it was at times, I’ve slowly come to realize that my sister was right when she told me that life is what happens at the edge of your comfort zone. To embrace change is to embrace life. It can open you up to all kinds of wonderful things. And if I ever needed any confirmation, then I only have to look at the events of this past week to prove it.
Since the dance there’s been so much change. After Ben’s initial shock at finding out that Valentine was his real father, they’ve been doing a lot of talking. There’s a lot to talk about. A whole lifetime to catch up on. But what’s important is that Valentine’s fears were unfounded. Ben didn’t reject him – far from it. There’s been no talk of blame or guilt or fault; just acceptance and recognition of how lucky they both are to have found each other, after all these years. Perhaps, in some strange way, that’s the gift grief gives you. Because having known what it’s like to suffer loss, these two men could only see how much they had to gain.
As for my sister’s email, it was waiting for me in my in-box the morning after the dance, and I read it and wept with relief and joy and called her immediately. And woke her up, as it was the middle of the night and I’d been in such a rush to speak to her that I hadn’t worked out the time difference. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. And we picked up, right where we left off – like we were having a conversation ten minutes ago. We talked for hours, and when finally I got off the phone, I went online and promptly booked my plane ticket.
